i've never been.

no metaphors. no similes. no comparisons. just truth. it feels nice to not lace this with my usual neurotic over-analysis and obsessive exaggeration. for once, i think i can just take this as it is. there's no competition or reason to prove myself to anyone this time. it's just us. there's no stress or pressures that are too much to bear as there have been with others. there is nothing to do but be me this time. for once. just this once. it's nice to just sit and talk or kiss or feel or live or laugh or chill or party or drink or drive or wander or second-hand smoke or smile. just love. it's simple. there's nothing to it. i appreciate it. simplicity and reality. i catch myself wondering...wandering. but i catch it and just feel like, fuck it! you know. acceptance. just acceptance of love and the love of acceptance. i can feel. i can see. i can be. me. just me. i've never been. just me...

what!

come on, don't let this shit die!! it's 2008, let's get it craaackin'!!

twelve hornsby's in a line...

twelve hornsby's and a year later, i remember the past months in awe of how quick it has passed me by. 2008? for real, though? Y2K seems like it was just yesterday. the dull, dim-light room has steadied out by now and my legs are less wobbly now after the eighteen-block walk. i chuckle in silence as i see the two girls sound asleep; one at my side, one at my feet. it's a pleasant way to ring in a new year. a drunk roommate, two tipsy friends, and me in a slightly altered mindstate, i guess. earlier, that new year's kiss and their first cigarette of the year (from a pack of shitty raves i found on a traffic cone) made me realize that this year is going to be just alright. the way my balance was off-kilter made me realize that this year is going to be a life-changing one. the way my breath escaped me as a reflection of my soul made me realize. the way we walked that alley quickly made me realize that i've got to step it up and just do shit. sleeping on my floor alone until she curled up next to me and refused to go back onto my bed made me realize i've got some amazing friends. but the way that my wallet disappeared made me realize that this year is going to be difficult. but you can't realize the beauty without the struggle. in conclusion: happy new year!

onetwo

onetwoonetwoonetwoonetwo.never stop running. never stop counting. never stop racing. never stop competing. never stop moving. never stop thinking. never stop pushing. never stop forcing. never stop sprinting. never stop the burning. never stop the yearning. never stop the sweating. never stop the motion. never stop the commotion. never stop trying. never stop sighing. never stop crying. never stop dying. but never stop living. it's all we got. so stare through the glare, past the present, past the future, past the infinite, and into the now. the now. just the now. right here, right now. never again. always forever. the now. this moment. it's all we got.

abyss

blank black wall. it's all that i see. the black blank canvas. just a glossy, wide-eyed stare. nothing in it but empty space. black and blank. inverted supernova. blank and black. it works like a black hole siphoning up all intangible thought. spewing it out again in an unseen universe. transverse universe. transition to inverse and disperse. black empty void. no one ever knows until they're told. the wreaths hanging from doors and the lights twinkling through the gentle fog are nothing but black on a blank wall. the frost in the air is the gloss on the wall. my confusion is the finishing touch on the piece. just a blank, black canvas. void. empty. abysmal.

barrage! (3 in 1)

the shadows form constellations of light that dance for hours along the uneven surfaces of the cement walkways. the breezeway funnels in cool air to both shelter and expose us to the elements of nature. as the ferns reach in every direction to find the sun, i sit here mesmerized by my lack of motivation towards all walks of life. i sit here and claw my brain until it bleeds the words i must force to drop onto these blank canvases. if you constantly have to force something, is it ever really worth it? if i must decide between monotony and exuberance, i'd go for monotony, but i'd disguise it in exuberance to fool the blood-thirsty fiends who feed on the uninspired minds of youth.


walking these streets with only my jangling keys while the late night air nips at my fingers is the only escape from the confines of my cave of white snow. i walk for hours with no destinations, end up in the same old places. the major part of this city is so sad now, nothing but drunk businessmen and transient men snoring while shaking gently in a bus stop. the smell of marijuana wafts across me every time i walk past a house with a dull blue aura in the window. the art in this city is ridiculously repetitive with the same six figures painted on every corner and the numerous unpracticed and illegible scrawls on the walls. paint covers the paint until more paint covers that paint and so on. this slow, quiet little city is the one in which i was raised. i am forced to feel love for the place when all i really want to do is escape...


awaken rudely, in an enjoyable way. the dull light shines through the window's shades. the sounds of breathing and rain trickling fill my world. the gently throbbing light from the computer on the desk lights up the roof every three seconds. stomach empty, eyes full, mind vacant, heart sore. the warmth in the sheets and comfort in the dreamstate uplift the thoughts to the ceiling, but they cannot escape any higher than that. no dreamy ideas for the heavens this morning, just the taste of stale breath like cigarettes and the soft sound of the rain on newly fallen leaves.

truth

scatterbrain beat hits the cerebrals of the crescent moon and splashes the crash every other pentameter. with the crowing of the brass rooster in the horizon above the eastern sunrise. the mountains spiral up in chords of dioxyribose while the nucleotides of acidic reflux of my father's astigmatismic sight; genetic pool's rich in flaws. volcanic eruptions carry the music notes and the baritone of the homeless man's narcoleptic tourette's voice. lost in the blurred vision of the icy roadway next to the skilift when his eyelids open to see hers staring back into his. a comfort so deep that he can't breathe in his sleep. the cortex of the hurricane system forecasts the retreat for shelter in the skull of a rabbit; hollowed. hallowed be the hollowed hallway leading all the way to the radioactive fallaway. the fallout is white as snow and crisp as glass shards spewed from the windshield of my car at eighty-three miles an hour. of course i'm dreaming, silly, is anything ever truth with me?

an unlit room

instrumental pumping the darkness creating something more vibrant than the red number flashing on the glare of my lenses. the bassline bumping harder than my cell phone's vib tone. the only light in the room is the laptop aura haunting the southwest corner. a boy nods his head to the bump and rhythm of the notes as they hit higher than his hopes. the scent of the incense closes his eyes for him as he drifts in and out of dreamstate existence. existing only in the dreamstate causes the hunger rumbling in his empty stomach to drift from his mind. change it up. the new vibe is a slow song. dreamy and soft. he can move smooth and think slow, the fingers speed lessens and the snare shakes slightly. it's a celebration. a celebration of words and drums and sirens and guns and the bite of the air hints that winter is near. the sounds of trucks on the street disrupt the calm quiet of the empty, soul-less room. just a blanket on the ground and a pillow against a wall. where shared touch sparks the idea of love. but now there is none to hold and none to rush. wistful and folky a girl chimes in, singing soft, lulling even softer. the only thing keeping him awake is the soymilk on his left. comfort in the discomfort. suddenly a freestyle over a sloppy drumkit slowly pop and splash. immaturity revealed through the childlike rhymes tossed out from his pierced tongue. awakened by the sudden change of mood he steps the volume up a notch and awaits the coming company to accompany him in the dull evening...

today

connect the dots of the children gathered around the twisting trail of smoke leading up to the ceiling fan. entranced by the beauty of the world as manifested by the smoky swirl of nag champa. overcomfort in the touch of her fingers, the contour of her crossed legs, the smile in her eyes, the cliches of love in my mind. today i stared at the pixels as they formed words like a ouija board. too bad it was just my own sub-conscience spelling what i wanted to read. as the rainwater formed droplets on my lenses, i scuttled to the confines of a classroom. my wandering mind made it impossible to focus on infectious diseases. i instead drifted among the thought bubbles in my mind about the new life that is about to unfold in front of my very eyes...

rain

the veins drip down my window like teardrops flowing towards the soil.
carrying my life with them; erasing my life with each follicle of dust.
refresh the homepage, follow the hyperlink, open me in a new tab.
comical kamikaze calmly commits a con connecting concoctions of correlations.
eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, one-twenty-eight, two-fifty-six.
choose your fate depending on the number of squares that paint your picture.
trumpets and guitars declare the uppity atmosphere i've embraced tonight.
sick and sad, what a way to sum it up; ill and depressed; done and done.
the skin on her shoulders is so sensual, but the tips of her fingers are so wonderful.
we're only individuals because of a slight difference in a vortex pattern smaller than imagination.
dialect and language; rhymes and rhythm; dreams and reality; love and hate, cliche and originality.
it's raining tonight...

i have a cold.

the pressures pulsating in his upper nasal passages push the mind out of the crown and up through the atmosphere into his dreams. the lifted state of the insidious thoughts he dreamt up can't match those that he witnessed through the eyes of another. accidental and irreversable sparks fly deep into the red sky. the scales grow and cover his chest, disguising the empty crevice where his muscles used to pump the river-like lifeline of intensity. microbacteria spread and eat the spongiformed folds in the heavens. orange-peel moon rises above the foggy clouds that disguise the polluted sky as a silky veil. unraveling the knots that form his self-righteous self-schemas and self-esteem blossoms into self-efficacy. too bad my self-perceived false consensus is, in actuality, nothing but a false uniqueness effect. fuck, look at me, i'm learning. lifeline pulsing in my mind; too bad she's too young; too bad she's too fun; too bad she's too fucked up; too bad she's too gone. gazing into his corneia only to realize it's void and blank; he has no pupils. no students. no one to learn. no one to throw their hands up to the sky to grab his mind and bring it back down to reality from the dreamy cloud-whisps...no one to tame his metaphors and similes and confusion and have you ever seen love personified?

blank

reality is the obstruction of distortion. daily occurrences rereflected throughout the caverns of our eyes and sifted through brainwaves are interpreted in our own ways. these relative realities cause schisms in what the perception of reality really is. standing over is not equivalent to understanding. social discrepencies in codes of ethic deter the mind from making absolute decisions and the norms found in society often cloud the vision of the optic nerves. sexuality evolving and chemistry brewing in between the late night conversations and early morning wake up calls appropriate into a mass of instantaneous love and lust. swayed easily by those eyes. my mind stumbles and wanders through the dark, hence the scattered thoughts being spewed upon the page. unintelligable talk written in advanced wording. plagues of blackness overtake my eyes and i drift into sleep and dreams, i think, or perhaps this is reality. the blank black mist or maybe the vague and desensitized dreams. either way, this reality is slipping away into the ______.

counterpoint

life's worth living, love's worth giving. heart's all giddy, lung's all shitty. days full of regret, nights full of pressing reset. pixelated nostalgia reintegrates paranoia. paranoia in a good sense of the word. it keeps me on my toes. helps me to achieve my life's goals. permeates the existance of my whims and woes. i dream of knocking the shit out of my foes, so i carry my verbal shank to a knifefight, but i don't how to flip it out and use it right. i carry my literal shank through life's limelight because i never know when i might need it. i have what is necessary, the basic essentials. friends, family, money and feed. it's just the greed that seeps from my being that makes me wish i had those things i've been seeing. phone vibrating and ringing, and my soul singing. heart's still beating. minds still reading thoughts and putting them to blank canvas through verbal, hardcopy, or sloppy erasermarked drawings. the back left side of my head is pounding with pain and my eyes are hellishly strained, but i keep typing away because i have these thoughts on my brain. everything kind of fits together in the long run, like that puzzle with all blue pieces and only one way to finish it. piecing this life together is a hell of a ride. i'm on the top of the largest drop, or maybe halfway down, i can't tell. bombs explode around the world, but i'm safe over here in my little corner, unable to sleep with this marathon mind, making a million miles a minute.

same story

rocksteady rhythm pulsing in my body and yet my heart beats to a different tune. one of deceit and pain and love and hate. oxymoronic antonymous mysteries send spasmic rhythms through my synapses (held together and kept from snapping by your word, which was all i held onto, which is all you forgot and let die.) you lied when you whispered that night, you lied and hid your hypocricy in the broad daylight. never say never when you really mean forever. only say what you mean and never utter that which is bullshit. not in my ear. not in my heart. not in my life, thanks. profuse perspiration brings a drop down my cheek from the corner of my eye. finally a feeling similar to that of crying. i'm scanning the distance, over the heads, i'm spying. watching for that same game and those lame antics. every heartbeat sends me spiraling. every glance and every soft touch sends me into another cavern deep in my mind. sparks of hatred fly. but are oddly perceived as love and, just a little, i die. look, i was right. it's the same ol' story...word for word. cliche per cliche.

garden

a familiarity of treble and bass drift amidst the warm summer air. the comfort of the atmosphere and the slight buzz from my watered down mocha. a fine mist drops like a light snow into the palm fronds and terra cotta mountains. a man walking on the aluminum roof disrupts the soft murmur of our voices speaking of serious matters. a lifted feeling like a burden of bricks off of my chest. finely ground rocks cushion the floor beneath my feet and my back stiffens from stress. i shudder as the mist caresses my skin. startled. sunlight sifted through the silky web draws my attention away from eavesdropping. time slips slowly away into the void of nothingness as human nature brings the sorrow and the doubt that the weather can often inspire. i'm just the opposite of most, the sunny, bright blue sky makes my soul cry whereas the cloudy, dark, damp days of winter make me smile. a smile i could use by now, but it's almost fall. the leaves will be red and yellow and the sky will weep while my teeth show once again.

ways

reminiscent membranes ricochet off the walls of my profane, insane, one-lane highways. untamed roadways winding longways alongside riverways and waterways cross-hatched by reverted-collapsing bridges. dehydration and thick anticipation mixed in the condensation of salty waterlets beneath my scarf. wooden crosses and statuettes of our-lady-of-guadalupe mark the sorrow and hope of the dearly deceased. these reminders of death don't slow our pace, we have a schedule to defeat and a demand to meet.

incense

nag champa invades my nostrils as the smoke stings my eyes. the knots and kinks in my neck and back constrict my nerves and cause major discomfort. the feelings of love and softness experienced earlier drift in my mind like the whispy, ghostly vapors in the air. fog and steam crowd out the stars and moon tonight. her fingertips and crazy antics cut through the clouds and bring a smile to my face. intimate smiles with the mutual capriciousness brings life to a standstill wherein no darkness could ever damper the spirits. i know i can't rest my happiness in her hands alone, i could smile on my own. it's just so much easier whilst sitting on a driveway with weirdy faces and odd sounds. the nag champa burns low and almost dies out. the end of the night and beginning of a dream. soft blackout into fanciful non-reality. drifting sweet. gently. happy.

struggle

tearing the walls and collapsing the floor
not sure who or what or how anymore
so lost and unable to resurface again
never able to recapture the air and
the struggles of life and love
they tear and destroy the fibers of
soul, heart and being
everything in between
confusion and uncertainty thrive
as i struggle with why i'm alive
trying to know why i'm here
struggling with what to fear
and what to accept and hold dear
waiting for her to reappear
to pull me together once and for all
to keep my mind on that damn ball
but then, a wonderful friend interjects in my life
she always knows how to calm my strife
she helps to organize the thoughts in my head
says there's so much more to see ahead
without her i don't know how i would live
she always has the best advice to give
an amazing person, a great fucking friend
i love her to death, 'til the bitter end
tonight i will lay down to rest
much more calm and focused on my quest
of inner peace and understanding of me
because i must know me before i can be
anything for anyone i love
she is my white dove
my sign of hope
yeah, she's that fucking dope.

i love you, my friend.
you know who you are. :]
and thank you, once again.

pt. III, to add to the strand

[...]

one being, being one seen
seen through the guilt and despair
seen through the clarity and prayer
lost and found, sleeping to awake
he found himself in his mind
and i in mine, intertwined
staring at himself staring at me staring at him
we are all one being
one twisted sin
but then again
we're never sure who we are
but the split personalities come together to one
and they bring all life into the clear, bright sun.

these summer nights

blinking light steals his brain and captures his attention for an hour straight. he wavers and teeters and stares at nothing with these lights flashing in his eyelids. blue and yellow is nothing but green but to him at this moment it's every dream he's ever had, everything he's ever wanted and every fiber of his being. as i watch him collapsing tunnels in his mind and run his fingers through the late night breeze i think of how nice it would be to feel, for once. so i cut and run to a simpler place with less sin in the air. just the midnight air and summer freedom. escape to the girl with the patched hoodie and a skateboard, sitting on a driveway. someone i can talk nonsense with and feel life drift into the night sky as we waste time better spent sleeping. but her eyes are deep and personality too captivating to leave for dreams. mustering courage, touching lips, and sparked synapses. huddled together in the morning cold, depart from her and race home. those eyes and lips stay in my mind as i slip into sleep and dream of life. wake to realize that i know what it is to feel, always have. all i needed was a small reminder of simple pleasures and sleepless smiles.